


Musical Threads

by afteriwake



Series: 2017 Christmas Gift Fics [8]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Music, Mentioned Bill Potts, Mentioned Missy (Doctor Who), Mentioned Nardole - Freeform, Mentioned River Song - Freeform, Mentioned The Doctor/River Song, POV Twelfth Doctor, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 10, Twelve Doesn't Remember Clara, glimpses, musical themes, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: All the different songs, they all have something to do with the woman he can't remember.





	Musical Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chitarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitarra/gifts).



> So last year for Christmas I had planned to write a different Twelve & Clara fic for **Chitarra** , but this morning I sat down and _this_ is what came out. I hope you enjoy!

She’d been a song for a long while now. It had come back to him, in bits and pieces, how important the waitress had been. But never fully did he realize who she was. All he knew is the girl in the blue and white uniform was a song he had sung for a long time.

There would be glimpses, every once in a while, not of her but of her in other people; her smile, the light in her eyes, the hair in the perfect bobbing ponytail. These glimpses added lines and melodies to the song and it grew, sometimes into a roaring crescendo and other times into a stirring guitar solo, but most times it was a steady rhythm he lived his life by.

He would find himself humming the tune as he petered around the TARDIS, around the university, around Bill and Nardole, getting glimpses from them where he knew they were wondering what, exactly, this tune was. He was sure Nardole thought it was River’s song, but no, his lovely, daring, darling wife had her own song, one he used to lull himself to sleep when he wanted a bit of peace and quiet and good dreams.

No, this song for the woman he didn’t know but he knew so well was different. It stayed with him, incomplete, and each experience that reminded him of the woman added to it. She had a light in her eyes similar to Bill, and sometimes Bill’s melody melded and blended and that made him happy. Somehow, he knew the woman would like that, would love to have known a woman as bright and wonderful as Bill.

And other times it was a sharp contrast to his...her...Missy’s theme. A sharp enough contrast, so that somehow, they should never mix. Their songs, no matter how good Missy was trying to be, should never merge and always be separate. But there were ghosts of it where they worked together, bits and pieces where they _almost_ blended, but not quite. Just enough that he knew the woman and Missy were connected.

Spinning the weaving threads between them, the music came forth but went...somewhere. He never knew where the music would be sung to, played to, but he knew the woman was hearing it, somehow. He left more and more of the song for the woman every place he went, note by note, chord by chord.

And as he lay dying on the battlefield, willing himself not to regenerate, not to change, he knew the song would be ending soon, the magnum opus to the woman who had made him better. Not the best, but better.

And he owed it to her to finish that song before it was too late and he was gone as the slate was wiped clean.


End file.
